Can Muggles See the Dark Mark?
by Balsam
Summary: Everyone remembers Hannah Abbot in Sixth Year. What will Hermione do when Voldemort does it again? She shouldn't be surprised...he's killed so many. But she's never felt the loss this...closely. Alternative to Deathly Hallows, but mostly HBP compatible.
1. Unexpected Bad News

**A/N: I've started a rewrite of this story. This chapter is almost identical to the original, with a few spelling/grammar changes. New rewrites and original chapters soon! **

**Please insert your favorite disclaimer about not owning Harry & Co. here. Thank you...saves me the trouble of inventing a unique one. xD**

"Ok, Hermione, I think we've proven that you _can_ perform the Hopping Hex silently before I can Shield myself. Can I please have a turn trying to hex you? I mean, we all know you'll block it, but it's worth a shot, surely!" Hermione had to strain a little to hear Ron because he was bouncing rather rapidly from the floor to the ceiling as a result of an enthusiastic Hopping Hex from Hermione. It was Wednesday, and Hermione was having a laugh at Ron's expense while they were supposed to be warming up for their Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Kingsley Shaklebolt, Professor Shacklebolt as the students called him, decided that the first fifteen minutes of each class should be spent practicing hexing and shielding oneself from hexes in partners before moving on to more difficult and dangerous things.

"Ron, I can't hear you. Let me get you down from that," Hermione offered.

"I'm _quite_ capable of doing it myself. Hold on a minute…" Ron pointed his wand at himself and mumbled a "_statianacorpus_". His bouncing slowed, but he turned an interesting shade of orange. Professor Shaklebolt stepped into the room.

"Nice Hopper Hermione. Ten points to Gryffindor for creativity and perfect execution. The Headmistress would like a word with you in the hallway, though. Take your things with you; the day is almost over.—you'll be able to catch up the work missed, at any rate. You're excused form this class. Here Ron, let me set you down and then we'll see about your colouring. I think you may have mispronounced the counter spell. Let me show you…"

Hermione left class a little perplexed. Students were only ever called out of class for terrible wrongdoing, and then it was usually Filch and the Head of House. Though McGonagall was both Headmistress and Head of House for the year (Shaklebolt had been a Ravenclaw), her professor had referred to McGonagall as Headmistress, not as her Head of House. And Hermione's rule-breaking was rarely the kind of mischief one got called out of class for.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" asked a genuinely puzzled Hermione.

"Let's walk to my office, shall we Miss Granger?"

"Which one?" Hermione joked. McGonagall didn't smile.

"I'm afraid I have some rather bad news for you, Miss Granger. Please, sit down,"

Hermione couldn't believe it. Just last night, she and Harry and Ron had stayed up late, playing wizard's chess while her mother was being murdered. McGonagall had taken her to the Headmistress's office. There, she had explained that Mr. Granger had come home late from a business trip to find the door to his house ajar and his wife dead inside. He immediately called the police. Dumbledore's portrait offered its condolences, which Hermione barely heard, but appreciated all the same. Now, she was packing her trunk.

With all these muggle killings recently, the Ministry had thought it wise to place a mid-ranking Auror in the police force to deal with the deaths of the muggle relatives of particularly strong witches or wizards. Voldemort sometimes decided it was best to eliminate the bloodline entirely. He wasn't one for leaving any potential enemies alive. When the Police Auror saw the Dark Mark hovering above the Granger residence, there could be no doubt left that this death was more than just a random act of Muggle violence.

He sent word to Arthur Weasley, Head of the Order, that a muggle woman had been worth enough to set a Mark for. _Well, that's something, at least_, Hermione thought choking on her tears, _she was "worth" a Dark Mark_. The sorrow was unimaginable. Hermione had been sure that her mother, a muggle, would be safe from Voldemort. _But nowadays, who is?_

"Hermione, McGonagall just told us!" It was Ron's voice calling from downstairs. Ron's voice, penetrating the fog of her thoughts.

"'Moine, you know we can't come up there! If you'll just come out to the stairs. Everyone's at dinner; we can talk in the common room, or head to Myrtle's toilet and make her leave us alone…anything you want."

_Ron and Harry, I can't leave them like this. I have to go see them. I have to talk to them about it_.

"Sorry, guys, I was just packing up some clothes. I have to go back for the funeral. I think I'll only be gone two weeks. I can't stand to miss much more with our NEWTS coming up, can I?"

Ron and Harry gave each other a look. Hermione could see that they saw right through her "typical Hermione" attitude, but she was grateful that they didn't burst the semblance of normality.

"I'll be back soon. Don't you two fail all your coursework just because you can't cheat off of me."

McGonagall had told Hermione to meet her in the Entrance Hall as soon as she was done packing and eating dinner, if she wanted any. McGonagall strongly suspected that she wouldn't. Hermione arrived in the Hall at 5:30 sharp. McGonagall had already spoken with Mr. Granger and notified him that Hermione's things would be arriving sometime that evening. McGonagall sent Hermione's trunk off at once. She then led Hermione down to Hogsmeade, bought her some Honeydukes' chocolate and held her hand as they both apparated in Hermione's bedroom to avoid Muggle detection.

McGonagall thought it might be more polite if they pretended Mr. Granger had let them in in the first place, so Hermione showed her the way she always used to sneak out of the house as a child. Hermione, being young and flexible managed the climb out of the window and down the lattice quite easily. McGonagall judged she could make the jump to the shed roof more easily as a cat. Back in human form, the two snuck quietly to the front of the house and Hermione rang her own doorbell.

Mr. Granger came to the door. " 'Ello? Oo's there? Oh, Hermione, s'you," Mr. Granger slurred his words a little. Both Hermione and McGonagall could see tear-tracks down his face. " 'N you must be Professor McGonagall. I r'member you from tha' conv'rsation in the fir'place. Won' fer'git that, no'ma'am."

"Yes, well, I think it's time I left you, Miss Granger. I'm sure you and your father would like to talk a few things over," said McGonagall, all business. But Hermione could sense something else in McGonagall, pity, warning maybe? "Owl me if you have any difficulties or if you would like more time. If not, I'll be back to pick you up, two weeks from today, at 7:00 PM. You're sure you don't want to make alternate living arrangements for the both of you? You would be welcome to—. No, I suppose not then. I'll see you in two weeks Miss Granger." And she disapparated—back to Hogsmeade, presumably.

Mr. Granger turned without another word and slunk back into the house. Hermione supposed she shouldn't feel the need to be invited into her own house. It still smelled like the cleaning products her mother used, but Hermione noticed that the sink held several unwashed dishes and the stove was greasy. Not her father's usual standard of clean. Nothing about the hunched, ashen-faced man seemed to be her father.

**Short A/N: Tell me what you thought...good or bad, please. I'm not gonna beg for reviews again, so please save me the suspense of knowing your deepest, darkest thoughts about my fic, and review every chance you get!**


	2. The Funeral

Hermione spent three lonely days in that house, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, opening sympathy cards and paying bills. Everything she did reminded her of her mother. To make things worse, her father barely spoke three words to her. He had given her one big hug every morning when he first saw her, but that was all. He was in no shape to plan the funeral. Hermione did it herself.

Hermione counted the days since that DADA class. It seemed like an eternity. _That was Wednesday_, she reasoned. _Thursday I read the will, Friday I contacted the funeral home she specified. She was cremated this morning. Service will be held this afternoon. I have about two hours before I have to be at the church for the last-minute stuff. The guests will get there in three hours. It will take Dad an hour to shower and get ready…God he moves slowly these days, better plan for an hour and a half. So….I have about a half hour to myself now, before I have to get both him and myself ready_. Hermione was at a loss. She hadn't had this much free time to herself in what seemed like forever. Even at school, things were busy.

Hermione sat at the kitchen table with her cup of tea for her whole half hour of time to herself. She looked at the walls, the spoon on the table, the tiles of the backsplash, the fruit bowl…everything had a memory of her mom. Even the clock. Groaning a little, she woke herself up. She padded down the hall to her father's Study.

"Dad, you have to go have a shower now and get dressed up." She heard nothing in reply. "Dad, it's the funeral today, you know that…come on." She heard him get up and walk to the door. He opened it, hugged her and shuffled upstairs. She remembered hugging him when she was little. His huge arms wrapped her up in a protective cover. Now his hug was like a dead weight pressing her into the floor. She shivered inwardly at her own inner monologue. She waited until she heard the water turn on until following him. She wanted to give him space, she told herself, knowing full well that she wanted that space just as much as he did.

She dressed in a bit of a daze. The black dress went on over her head. Its hem fell gracefully, but not sexily just below her knees. The short, cap sleeves were pretty, not flirty. The small V neck was flattering, revealing nothing. Some hair potion and a few hundred pins secured her hair into a large knob on the back of her head. Its weight was oddly reassuring. She felt grown up, independent. A little make-up to disguise the under slept look. She stepped into her small, closed-toed kitten heels. A little height never hurt her confidence.

The service was very long and boring, even for Hermione. _This is about your own mother! You ought to be interested…sad at least!_ She scolded herself mentally. _No_, replied her rebellious side, _the woman these people are mourning is nothing like the mother that I knew. She wasn't "always graceful and charming". Maybe he meant "gracious". The mother I had couldn't even walk down the drive in the winter unless Dad had scraped off all the ice! I saw that woman trip on her own feet and fall flat on her butt more times than anyone and get up laughing harder than the rest of us! Accomplished? Yes. Wonderful? Yes. Intelligent? Yes. But graceful? Definitely not! And these are the things I remember when I think of my mother?_The tears streaming down her face had nothing to do with the old man droning on at the podium.

The wake was more of the same. Hermione stood quietly by the door, welcoming people as they entered and thanking them when they left. She mingled a little, but few people stayed long. Their comments were inevitably irrelevant to her mother—"she was wonderful. She knew exactly what she wanted out of life."—or incredibly patronizing—"I'm so deeply sorry for your loss, dear,". Only once did someone make a unique comment. Someone she didn't recognize wearing a patchy, faded black suit whispered as he left "She loved you a lot, you know. She wanted me to tell you that." Hermione nearly fainted.

The rest of the days passed in a blur of reheating one of the seventeen thousand casseroles she was left by colleagues or friends of her mother's, feeding her father, reminding him to bathe and doing his laundry. She wasn't sure how he'd do on his own. He was showing some improvement by the second Monday though, so Hermione reminded him of her plans to leave that Wednesday. He responded with a grunt and a nod. Hermione wasn't even sure he'd heard her, so she wrote it on the calendar, to remind him.

_He wasn't like this when she was around. He was clean for one thing. He loved me. No, he still loves me. This man is still my father…_

She visited her mother's grave only once after the burial. Mrs. Granger had wished to have her remains buried. The whole idea of having her ashes left on a mantelpiece in some relative's home and apparently scared Mrs. Granger as much as it had Hermione.

As she knelt in the dewy grass, she could hear her mother's voice, warning her that she would have wet knees when she stood and everyone would wonder _what_ she had been doing! _Not today, Mom. I'll kneel in the grass today._ She ran her hands over the plain tombstone. "Erected in memory of Sarah Jane Rogers Granger" lower, beneath the dates of birth and death, were the words "Loving mother, caring wife, you are sorely missed." Hermione closed her eyes. She inhaled deeply, breathing in the damp morning air that smelled of grass and wildflowers. She explored the new stone with her hands, feeling the cut letters with her palms. She felt down to the unruly grass and wilted flowers strewn at the bottom. _Wait,_ what was that cut beneath her left hand? Right at the bottom of the stone. Hermione's eyes snapped open as she leaned down examine the left edge. _It can't be!_ The Dark Mark was carved clearly into the stone, at the bottom, where it was covered by tufts of grass. Hermione's throat was choked with a feeling she couldn't describe. She pulled back quickly and raced home, not once looking back.

Wednesday came and with it, McGonagall. "I love you, Hermione, don't ever forget it," was the only goodbye her father had for her. They apparated back to Hogsmeade and returned to Honeydukes where McGonagall bought her what seemed like enough chocolate for three years. Then they started the long walk back to the school. McGonagall said Hermione could be excused from the classes the next day, if she chose. Hermione shook her head. When they got back to the school, McGonagall left her to climb to Gryffindor Tower alone.

"Oh! Miss Granger, the new password is "In Memoriam".

**A/N: I didn't actually know Hermione's mom's name, so I invented one. Everything I could find said her parent's were "unnamed Muggles". If you found a name, definitely tell me in that review you're about to write. I picked Jane because it was Hermione's middle name, too, from 2004 until DH came out. Also, I realize that Hermione's parents were doctors, but for social use, I think Mr. is less pretentious.**


	3. Typical Hermione

Professor McGonagall's words brought a fresh wave of sorrow over Hermione. She stood still, as silent as the castle around her, in the Entrance Hall, watching Professor McGonagall's walk briskly down the corridor. As the teacher turned the corner to walk towards her office, Hermione could have sworn she saw McGonagall's hand rise to her face, clutching a white linen handkerchief.

Slowly, Hermione shook herself off and made her way to Gryffindor Tower. "In Memoriam", she mumbled at the Fat Lady.

"May she rest in peace," was the reply, as the Fat Lady swung forwards gravely.

A wave of silence rippled through the common room as Hermione climbed through the portrait hole. _I had hoped no one would remember I was getting back today._ First Years stared openly, as did some older muggle-borns. The rest of the House seemed to be polite enough to take sneaking glances at her over their shoulders or from behind books. Standing beside the two squashy armchairs nearest to the fireplace, Harry and Ron had stood up.

"Alright, ladies, what's all this? Let's all get back to our evening, now," It was Ron. _Wonderful, caring, sensible Ron. Wait, "sensible Ron"? That can't be right._ But it was. Hermione nearly knocked him over as she squeezed him with all her strength.

"Oh, Ron, I'm so glad to be home!" she whispered in his ear. Ron hugged her back. Funny, he thought, each time she hug-attacked him, it got less awkward. Ron stood there, holding her loosely, until she pulled back. Neither Ron nor Harry mentioned the tears on her face. She hugged Harry just as tightly. Wiping her eyes, she sat in one of the chairs by the fireplace and asked the boys, _her boys,_ she thought, for a complete update on their classes, the teachers, the homework…all the hot gossip. The boys took the hint that she didn't want to talk about her experiences over the last weeks. Harry resolved in his mind to ask her about it later. He had shared with them all the details of his lessons with Dumbledore, Hermione could share anything with him.

"Oh, you'll never guess the latest inter-house relationship." Harry gushed, in perfect imitation of Lavender Brown. "Pansy Parkinson and Romilda Vane!"

"Harry! Oh you're not serious! That's just…that's just too…no! It can't be!" Hermione exclaimed, feigning Pavarti's shock at hearing such news.

"Oh yes!"

"No!"

"It's the truth!" squealed Padma Patil, played by Ron.

"But seriously, Harry, under all the pretending to be girls in our year, Pansy and Romilda aren't _really_….are they?"

"No, of course not 'Mione. I had you going for a second there, didn't I?"

Hermione laughed, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. "I think I'll got to bed now, boys. I'll see you two at breakfast tomorrow."

"Hermione, you can't seriously be considering going to classes tomorrow! You just got back. Take some time to re-adjust to Hogwarts." Ron implored.

"Oh Ron, don't be ridiculous. I've only been gone two weeks. It didn't take long to…" Hermione trailed off, staring into the distance. "In any case, I'll only miss more work if I take tomorrow off. I have a free period to catch up with all the work I missed. Goodnight, Ron. G'night Harry."

"What d'you think she's keeping from us, mate?" Ron asked Harry.

"Dunno, but it's gotta be pretty important if the news of Pansy and Romilda didn't get a genuine laugh outta her. You pretending to be Padma was a nice touch, too. Have you two spoken to each other since the Yule Ball?"

"Harry, you gotta be kidding me!" exclaimed Ron, drawing dirty looks from a group of Third years playing exploding snap on a table close-by. Lowering his voice a little, Ron continued, "No I haven't even seen her since. I think she may still be avoiding me three years later. I was considering asking her to the Graduating Dance, but—look what you've done! You've gotten us off topic. I _wanted_ to talk about Hermione."

Harry apologized, giving Ron his best puppy-eyes. That earned him a swift punch in the side, but Harry, seeing the punch, had silently Shielded himself. Ron's fist bounced off and Ron swore loudly, earning him another round of dirty looks from the Third years. "Really, I'll concentrate now. I'm just so glad to see her back, more or less OK. I guess there is something really wrong though."

Ron sighed. He loved Harry to death and was prepared to fight with him when the time came, but Harry sometimes had trouble acknowledging that other people's problems could be serious, too. It was easy to forget, with the threat of battle with the greatest Dark wizard of all time looming over his head, that he was not the only one whom Voldemort effected personally. Ron knew that Harry was trying to be sensitive to Hermione's loss, he just had a little trouble.

"Let's get to bed, too Harry. Tomorrow will be a very though day."

Hermione was reading a very large, musty smelling book in the Common room, absent-mindedly petting Crookshanks when Harry and Ron came down.

"Morning Hermione," they called, practically in unison, when they saw her. There was no answer.

"Earth to Hermione…come in please….your breakfast will not walk up to Gryffindor Tower to be eaten."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry, I'm just finishing the paragraph…." There was a long silence. The boys stood beside the chair in which Hermione was sitting, waiting for Hermione to read the paragraph. Hermione turned the page and continued reading.

"Wait, Hermione. You said you were just going to finish the paragraph!" argued Ron.

"Oh, did I? Sorry about that. Hang on, I'll just get to the end of this one…"

"Oh no, you don't. You'll go on forever if we let you do that. Mark the place and let's get something to eat. You'll be useless without some food in you today." Ron insisted and Hermione gave in. She marked the place with a flick of her wand, dumped the tome into her schoolbag, hefted it onto her shoulder and let Harry and Ron take her down to breakfast.

At breakfast, Harry piled toast and sausage on her plate, while Ron added scrambled eggs and fruit salad. Hermione smiled a thanks at them and ate a little. Harry filled her goblet with pumpkin juice and Ron passed her the jam.

"Really, boys, I know how to get my own breakfast when it's all laid out on the table in front of me!" Secretly, Hermione kind of liked being pampered like this, but soon the boys were practically spoon-feeding her!

They finished their breakfasts and all headed down to Slughorn's dungeon for Potions. Today, Hermione chose to sit on the far side of Ernie MacMillan, now Head Boy, leaving Harry and Ron to try to copy off the other's work, unable to check Hermione's for clues as to what they were doing wrong. Harry had discarded the Prince's textbook, and Hermione was very pleased to see that she was, once again, on top of the Potions class. Today, they were all working furiously on Self Serum, a kind of anti-polyjuice that forces a witch or wizrard back in to her or his own form. Animagi would transform back into humans and those under the influence of the Polyjuice potion would transform into their true selves. It couldn't affect Metamorphmagi, though, something about the nature of their changes was different from animagi.

"Can anyone tell me what is particularly of note about Self Serum and the transformations it can force?" called out Professor Slughorn. Hermione, of course, knew the answer. "Yes, Miss Granger."

"It can force transformations in animals and inanimate objects, too. If you transfigure a teacup into a rat, Self Serum will force it back to being a teacup."

"That's correct, Miss Granger. Ten points for Gryffindor. Are you sure you can't have a magical ancestor I know?"

"I'm sure, sir. My parents are…I was born to two Muggle parents." A tear slid down Hermione's cheek, but Slughorn had moved on, and Ernie wasn't paying attention. Only Harry and Ron saw it.

After Potions, Ron and Harry tried to convince Hermione to skip Arithmancy to relax by the lake. Surely Professor Vector would understand if she wasn't up to taking another NEWT class that day. Hermione refused, and off she went, her book bag nearly bursting.

Harry and Ron hurried up to the Common Room to finish their Defence Against the Dark Arts homework before lunch.

"She'd better tell us what's up soon," said Harry, "I'm getting worried. You should talk to her tomorrow."

"Why me?" asked Ron.

Harry just rolled his eyes. As if Ron didn't know…


	4. Not so Typical Hermione

Harry and Ron gave up on their homework fifteen minutes before the start of lunch. They decided to stroll down to the Arithmancy classroom to meet Hermione so they could walk to lunch together. The bell rang. Hermione's six Arithmancy N.E.W.T classmates walked out, chatting about the class, their ridiculous amount of homework and lunch. Ernie Macmillan was the last to come out.

"Have you two seen Hermione? I was expecting her to come—she was in Potions today—Vector gave us so much homework—I picked up the chart for her…" seeing the stunned look on Ron's and Harry's faces, Ernie trailed off. "You haven't seen her either, then, eh? Well, I'll give this to you then, Ron. You being in her house and all…" Ernie gave him an awkward wink and strode away, trying to give the impression of confidence.

"She wasn't in Arithmancy?" whispered Harry.

"She never cuts class. We even asked her to, but she refused." Ron was just as puzzled.

"We'd better go to lunch. I'm sure we'll see her there. She must have skipped Arithmancy to work on something else in the library," said Harry. "We'll see her at lunch. Don't worry."

"Maybe. Should we check for her at the library first?" Ron asked, unconvinced.

"Oh come on, mate. I hear there's apple pie for dessert." Harry tugged Ron's arm. With a final look backwards, Ron followed him to the Great Hall.

"I hope you're right, mate."

An hour or so earlier, Hermione had started down the hall that would take her to Arithmancy. _What's the point of going? I haven't done any of the homework, any of the reading, any of the…anything. I'll spend the class way over my head._ Hermione mused darkly as she walked along. _Forget it, it doesn't matter if I go or not._

She turned around abruptly and headed out the front doors, down to Hagrid's cabin. It was a chilly October day. The sun seemed less strong and the clouds had a steely look to them, but Hermione couldn't be sure how much of that was her frame of mind. She didn't even find the forest handsome with its crown a strange red-gold-brown mosaic of leaves. It just looked like everything was dying.

As she got nearer to Hagrid's cabin, she noticed he was outside, but he wasn't alone. A group of fifteen or so terrified-looking Third years were standing inside the fenced enclosure that had held the Hippogriffs in Hermione's first Care of Magical Creatures class. Occasionally, Hermione heard a high-pitched squeal from one of the girls. As Hermione got closer, she could see that the Third years were supposed to be taking care of something in the enclosure, but they had pressed themselves to the fence in terror, blocking Hermione's view of the actual creatures. Hagrid caught sight of her.

"Alrigh' you lot, just keep tryin' an' I'm sure you'll be able to get 'em fed an' cleaned up." Hagrid walked over to her. "Merlin, Hermione. Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Oh, um, Professor Vector said I could take this one off to…uh…catch up on the class reading." Seeing Hagrid's skeptical look, she told him the truth. "Nobody really expected me back at class today, anyway! I just needed someone to talk to, Hagrid. Can we go inside?"

"O'course, 'Moine. I'm bein' silly." To the Third years he shouted enthusiastically, "Keep it up, ye'r doin' great!"

Inside, Hagrid sat her down at his enormous kitchen table and placed a steaming mug of tea in front of her. Hermione burst into tears. "I just don't know why he did it! She was a muggle. She had nothing to do with any of this. Why couldn't he just leave her out of this?"

If Hermione had been in a more usual state of mind, she would have noticed that Hagrid seemed surprised. "Have you spoken to McGonagall 'bout all this?" he asked.

"Of course, she was the one who told me my mother is dead!"

"O' yea. Tha's righ'. I fergot, 'Mione. I'm sorry."

"How does a wizard go so wrong, Hagrid? How does it happen?"

"I dunno, 'Mione, I just dun' know." Hagrid patted her back softly, trying to console her, not wanting to say too much.

Hermione sat there for what seemed like an eternity of sobbing. Fang laid his head on her knee and whined softly.

"I'm so sorry 'Mione. Your Ma was a fantastic woman…uh, er…I'm sure."

"I'm not sorry, I'm angry. I don't care what it takes, Hagrid. I swear, by Merlin, I'll bring him down. I'll stand by Harry to the very last." Hermione raised her head. She had wiped off the last of her tears. Hagrid was startled by the cold anger in those big, brown eyes. The tension was broken by a knock on the door.

"Haven' seen you lads here in a while." Hagrid greeted Harry and Ron.

"Is Hermione here?" Harry asked. "We didn't see her at lunch and Ernie Macmillan said—"

"Hermione!" Ron cried, cutting Harry off in mid-sentence. "We were worried. You skip Arithmancy and then lunch! What are you doing?

"Sorry guys. I just needed some time off. I didn't think I would, but, well…" Hagrid noticed the metallic anger in her eyes was gone. She turned to Hagrid, "Thanks for putting up with me, Hagrid. I feel better after the tea." Or was the rage just veiled by a soft, Hermione mask?

"Ye know full well it's no trouble, 'Mione. If ye'd like summa yer own tea, I got tha' blend special from Professor Sprout. I'm sure she'd have a bit t'give t'yer. Come visit now, any time yer like. That's fer all of yer." The three nodded their heads. "Got ter get back ter me class now." He clapped Harry and Ron on the shoulder as Hermione lead the way out of Hagrid's cabin.

The three friends made the climb back up to the castle quietly. Ron slung a protective arm around Hermione's shoulders. Harry responded with a chivalrous offer of his arm. She smiled at them, thanking her lucky stars she had such good friends.


End file.
